The Reason
by Alexiah Rose
Summary: An old face returns to Ballykissangel, and Assumpta reveals to Peter the reason she hates the church.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm new to this, but I believe the convention is to state that I don't own these characters... except Connelly - I guess I do own him! Anyway, this takes place somewhere around the middle of season two. Please review to let me know that you're reading, and to let me know what you think ;)_

**Chapter One**

As she unlocked the front door at opening time, the sun hit Assumpta's face with such delightful warmth that she couldn't resist enjoying it for just a few moments more. It had rained for almost two weeks straight in Ballykissangel, and the still wet streets glistened slightly in the sunshine. Finally, the dreary monotony was broken. It was beautiful...  
_Almost perfect,_ Assumpta thought.

Leaning against the doorframe, she looked to the right as something caught her eye. Squinting against the glare from the wet pavement, Peter was walking determinedly toward Fitzgerald's. Assumpta was glad; she'd not seen him in over a week. Everyone was all in a tizz over some very important man, probably with a very large hat, who was coming to say Mass at St Joseph's. Apparently, Father Mac had had Peter painting walls, pruning hedges, climbing up ladders to polish the church ceiling...  
_Well, I s'pose he'd notice the ceiling; his nose would be that far up in the air,_ Assumpta mused.

Peter must have felt her eyes on him, and he lifted his own to meet them. As he quickened his pace, he smiled at her... with only one side of his mouth, the way only Peter does.  
_Such a stupid, goofy smile,_ Assumpta told herself. But, no matter how hard she willed it not to, her stomach flipped about three times at the sight of it, and she smiled back.

Obviously distracted by Assumpta's smile and the promise of lager, Peter didn't notice Kathleen until he, quite literally, crashed into her.  
'Father Clifford!'  
Peter smiled apologetically.  
'Sorry, Kathleen... Didn't see you there.'  
With folded arms and pursed lips, Kathleen glanced over at Assumpta, who gave an amused smirk in reply.  
'No, I'm sure you didn't.'  
As Kathleen began to lecture Peter on how she was certain he couldn't possibly be thinking to sit in the pub and drink at a time like this, when the most charming and respectable new bishop was expected to arrive in less than six hours, and there was still so much to be done, Assumpta retreated back inside.

Soon enough, the bar filled with all the usual suspects, but Peter never even made it to the door.  
'He's probably cleaning the church loos with a toothbrush,' Padraig guessed.  
'Mmm... or practising party tricks to impress the bishop. Water into wine's been done to death, but I'd pay to see him try to turn this piddle into a decent cup of coffee,' said Brian, gesturing to his cup.  
'I'll turn it into a cleansing facial mask, if you don't shut up,' spat Assumpta, moving to grab the cup.  
'Okay, okay! All I'm saying is that you're going to have to do a lot better than this if you're going to impress this bishop... and I strongly advise that you do impress him, Assumpta, because, if your awful coffee and even worse attitude put him off supporting my idea for a conference centre and resort in Ballykissangel, I will -'  
'Brian, what are talking about?'  
'A conference centre! You know, for priests' retreats and the like.'  
'What, so we can have the clergy swarming around here like locusts all year round? Yeah, no thanks.'  
'Assumpta!' groaned a now agitated Brian.  
'What's it got to do with me anyway? I mean, in what universe is Father Mac going to bring a bleeding bishop into my pub?'  
She remembered the last time Father Mac had brought guests to Fitzgerald's... _And hadn't that gone just swimmingly?_ she thought, scornfully.  
'Ah, actually, Assumpta,' Brendan spoke up, in a rather cheeky tone, 'I did hear Father Mac saying that this particular bishop is very big on interacting with the local community... Said he wanted to see the whole village. I wouldn't be too surprised if he did make an appearance here.'

That evening, Fitzgerald's was livelier than usual. Maybe the day's sunshine had put everyone in good spirits. Padraig and Brendan had taken to singing ballads, while Donal and Liam made loud, drunken plans to overthrow Quigley and take over the company, and Siobhan and Niamh gossiped with Assumpta over the bar. Everyone's heads flicked around as they heard the click of the door opening. As he walked in, Peter smiled his smile at Assumpta for the second time that day, but she took less pleasure in it this time. It had a slightly nervous, almost apologetic quality that let Assumpta know that he knew she wasn't going to like what was coming. Silence fell over the pub as Peter was followed by Father Mac and, finally, the shiny new bishop himself.

Assumpta froze.  
If she'd been holding a glass, she'd have dropped it.  
If she'd been holding a gun...  
There he was, standing in her pub, staring at her with that same proud, smug look that says 'You can't touch me'.  
He hadn't changed much in the years that had passed; he was still the tall, dark and not so handsome Father – sorry, _Bishop_ – Connelly.  
He smiled at her. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to run, but legs were stuck in place. She wanted to shout, but she had no words. Just like all those years ago, she had no words.  
He was it. This man... this man was the reason she hated the church, the reason she despised the clergy, the reason she once couldn't, and now wouldn't, show her face at Mass.  
As past pain and anxiety tied knots in her stomach, she finally found words, but only two.  
'Get out.'  
It was barely a whisper.

Peter had watched the colour drain from Assumpta's face, had watched her hands begin to shake, had heard the tremble in her voice as she finally spoke. His heart just about stopped. What was it? What was wrong? Surely this was more than her usual distaste for entertaining clergymen.  
'Assumpta...?' He spoke her name in a questioning, concerned tone.  
Her eyes flickered to his for only a second, but a second was long enough for Peter to see all the shock, fear, hurt and anger in them. Something in that look made him wish he knew all her troubles, so he could make everything right again.  
She spoke her words again, this time more forcefully.  
'Get _out.'  
_Peter turned to Father Mac and the bishop.  
'I think we should go.'  
Father Mac's face reddened with fury, and he shouted, 'No, Miss Fitzgerald! This man is a bishop, and he w_ill_ have your respect!'  
'Don't trouble yourself, Father.'  
At the sound of Connelly's voice, Peter watched Assumpta wince as though in pain.  
'I would not stay in this place a minute longer if you paid me.'  
With that, he was out the door, followed by a still fuming Father Mac. Peter glanced back at Assumpta, hoping to catch her eye, but she was staring down at the ground. Reluctantly, he followed after his superiors.

It was almost eleven when Father Mac and Bishop Connelly set off back to Cilldargan for the night. If someone had asked Peter what conversations had been had that night, he couldn't have told them. His mind kept wandering back to Assumpta, which was nothing new – he frequently had this problem when trying to listen to Father Mac – but, this time, his thoughts were filled with worry. He'd never seen her look so small and scared; he'd never seen her lost for words. What was it about the new bishop that could distress her so much? He wondered if anyone had checked on her. He knew that not many people would feel comfortable asking her if she was okay, and he knew that made her feel alone.  
_I should go_, he thought. _She won't tell me anything; of course she won't. But she needs to know that someone cares._  
So, he set off through the cold, in the direction of Fitzgerald's.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the nice reviews :) I'm glad there are others out there who still love Ballyk ;)  
Sorry if these next two chapters drag on a bit. It all happened rather quickly in my head, but it was tricky to get it into words._

**Chapter Two**

The bar was closed up when Peter arrived, but he could see that the light was on in Assumpta's bedroom upstairs. He knocked loudly on the door, and, when only silence answered, he knocked several times more. Panic began to set in. This was a stupid idea. Obviously, the last thing she wanted was to spill out all her troubles and woes to the local curate in the middle of the night. When he heard the upstairs window opening, Peter braced himself to receive the full force of Assumpta's wrath... and she was well prepared to give it to whomever evidently could not grasp the concept of closing time, until she saw who it was.  
'Oh, it's you.'  
He stepped back to look up at her.  
'Can I talk to you for a minute?'  
Now it was Assumpta's turn to panic. Everyone had witnessed her distress in the pub earlier, but, as Peter had suspected, no one had mentioned anything. After a couple of seconds of awkward silence, they'd all simply carried on drinking and chattering; it was what they thought she'd want, and it was just easier. Naturally, the only person who seemed to really care – the only person who ever seemed to care – was the last person she wanted to talk to about this.

She racked her mind for some excuse to send him away, but found none. Instead, she said, 'Um, well, not if you're gonna ask me to drive you up the mountain again. It's far too cold tonight for that kind of nonsense.'  
Peter smiled, remembering the last time he'd spoken to her from this window.  
'I won't; I promise.'  
Assumpta sighed, and headed downstairs to let him in. As she unbolted the door, a new wave of panic hit her. What if Connelly had already spoken to Peter? He must have said something to explain the scene in Fitzgerald's. What would he have told him? Not the truth – that's for sure.

In his sudden conviction to go and check on Assumpta, Peter had forgotten to put on his coat, and, when she caught sight of the trembling figure standing in her doorway, Assumpta raised her eyebrows in wonder, and led him through to the kitchen, where the fire had not yet gone out. As she added another log to it, Peter was glad to observe that she was still dressed in the jeans and green cardigan she'd been wearing earlier – he hadn't woken her, then.  
'Cup of tea?' Assumpta offered, because nothing fixes a bad situation like a nice cup of tea.  
'Love one.'

Watching her make the tea, Peter wondered how best to begin. He knew he had to choose his words very carefully with Assumpta; he didn't want to accidentally find himself in an argument with her tonight. He moved to sit on the edge of the table. Assumpta, facing away from him, watched the kettle boil. The silence was driving her mad. If he had something to say, why didn't he just say it? With a deliberately casual tone, she said,  
'Well, come on then... out with it. I know you didn't come all the way here just to watch me make tea, so what do you want?'  
'I just... Are you okay?'  
Fiddling with the teacups, she tried to look busy, as she kept up her casual act.  
'I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?'  
'Assumpta.' His voice was soft and caring, but also accusatory – like he was saying, "You might as well be honest with me, because I see right through you."

Assumpta sighed, and turned to face him. She met his eyes. They were wide and innocent, filled with unmasked concern for her. At that moment, she gave up the game. How could she tell anything but the truth to those eyes?  
Peter read the look on her face, and knew this was one of those rare moments when she was willing to let her guard down. He proceeded with caution.  
'What was it about Bishop Connelly that upset you so much?'  
She answered his question with a question:  
'Peter, why do you think I hate the church?'  
Peter was taken aback. He'd never really given it that much thought; he'd just accepted it as a fact not to be questioned.  
'Well... because you think it's responsible for most of the world's problems... and, I suppose, because you don't believe -'  
'Wrong.'  
'What?'  
'I do believe, Peter. Maybe not in every doctrine you teach, but in the basics. I believe in God; I believe that Christ died for my sins, and that I'm forgiven because of that.'  
Peter was completely shocked.  
'But you said...'  
'No, I didn't. I never said,' she replied sharply.  
Come to think of it, Peter had never heard her actually say that she didn't believe. He'd just assumed...  
Assumpta continued, more softly now.  
'People see that I don't go to Mass and they just make assumptions, you know? And I let them, because then they don't ask questions.'  
Quite honestly, Peter was glad to hear this. As often as he'd allowed himself to think about it, he'd worried about Assumpta. The thought that this person who meant so much to him might find herself on the wrong side of judgment had naturally troubled him.

But if that wasn't the reason for her feelings toward the church...  
'What, then?'  
'Your man Connelly, that's what.'  
The same anger from earlier that evening returned to her eyes.  
'Well... what about him?'  
'You mean he hasn't told you?'  
'No... All I know is that he was stationed here as a curate for a couple of years while Father Mac was in Wexford. But that was ages ago – about twelve years.'  
'Thirteen, actually... and five months.'  
'What happened, Assumpta?'  
There it was – the direct question. She regarded him for a moment, checking to make sure she really did trust him, then said,  
'Have I ever told you about my mother?'


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Peter shook his head. Assumpta went to the shelf on the opposite side of the room, and returned holding a framed photograph of her parents on their wedding day. She handed it to Peter, who smiled at the image of the lovely young woman who beamed with joy as her new husband kissed her cheek.  
'She was very beautiful... She looks just like you.'  
He looked back up at Assumpta, seeing that she'd registered that he'd just called her beautiful. She gave a sad smile in acknowledgement, before taking the picture back to its place.  
'Well, the young Father Connelly thought she was beautiful, too.'

She leaned against the counter, and began to tell her story. She spoke mostly to the floor, but occasionally glanced up at Peter, who listened intently.  
'I quite liked church, when I was a girl. My family was really involved in it all. My da used to help out loads with the maintenance and all, because priests are generally useless with that kind of thing.'  
She paused to smile pointedly at Peter, who dutifully feigned offence.  
'Mam would do a lot of the cleaning, and the flowers and candles, and that sort of thing... and I was an altar server.'  
At the image of that, Peter couldn't hold back a little chuckle. Assumpta glared at him.  
'Hey, do you want to hear this story or not?'  
Peter nodded, silently.

'Right. Well, anyway, I was about ten years old when Father Connelly came to town. He came across as very kind and friendly. Everyone seemed to love him. He got along really well with my father. Da would praise him to the skies, but I noticed that Mam would always fall quiet when people spoke of him.  
'I don't know what went on between them before this, but one day, I bunked off school. We were set to play a football match against St Bartholomew's in Cilldargan, and if there was one thing I hated more than football, it was those stuck up brats from St Bartholomew's in Cilldargan. It was a Thursday, and I knew the church was quiet on Thursday afternoons, so I went there. I thought maybe I could say a few prayers, clear myself of skipping school. Not wanting to be seen, I went in the side door, through the sacristy.  
'I heard movement inside, so I stayed hidden in the sacristy. When I peeked around the door, I saw that my mother was there cleaning. She usually did it on a Wednesday, but I guess she'd forgotten that week. Father Connelly was also there, and he was talking to her, but only quietly, so I couldn't hear what they were saying. I thought to sneak back outside, but then I saw him reach out and grab her by the arms. He tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.'  
Assumpta's voice hitched as she spoke her next sentence.  
'He slapped her across the face. He didn't talk quietly anymore – now he was shouting. He said all she'd done since he got to town was tease him. He said she knew what she was doing. He knew she wanted it, and she'd as good as agreed to it; she couldn't back out now. She kept telling him that he was wrong, that it was a misunderstanding, but he just got angrier. He called her terrible names, Peter, names I'd never even heard before...'

She glanced up at the picture of her mother, and Peter saw a tear roll down her cheek. His heart responded before his brain had a chance to intervene. He reached out and placed his hand tenderly on Assumpta's arm. He quickly pulled it back, however, thinking that a priest touching her was probably the last thing that would bring her comfort just now.

Assumpta took a deep breath, and continued.  
'He was strong, and he pushed her against the wall. He started kissing her again, and she couldn't get away. And I just stood there, frozen. I didn't scream or run for help, or do anything to help her. But the parish priest, Father Monaghan, came in the front door, a couple of seconds later. He saw Connelly and my mother against the wall. Connelly said...'  
Here, pure hate and disgust entered Assumpta's voice, 'He said she'd seduced him. She'd thrown herself at him for months and months, and there was only so much a man could take. She told Monaghan it wasn't true, but who do you think he chose to believe? Whose side do you think he, and the whole damn church, took? All of us were discharged from our duties within the church, and Monaghan and the bishop did everything they could to cover the whole thing up. But Connelly made damn sure that all the parish gossips found out about his noble resistance of my seductress mother, and, obviously, she couldn't show her face at Mass after that.  
'A few months later, Connelly was moved to a parish in Cork, and the talk of the scandal eventually died down. Mam went to see the bishop, at one stage, to try to explain what really happened, but he wouldn't listen to her. I'm not even sure if my dad believed her. With no witnesses, everyone's always going to take the word of a priest over that of a publican.  
'Only, there was a witness. I knew exactly what had happened, but I never breathed a word. I was too scared of getting in trouble for skipping school. How unbelievably _stupid_ is that, eh? I stood by and watched my family ruined, and I did nothing. It's all my fault.'

Assumpta's tears flowed freely now. Peter had never seen her cry. As his stomach burned with rage against Connelly for what he'd done, his heart melted at the sight of Assumpta's hurt. He completely forgot his earlier reservations, and took her in his arms. He was afraid she'd push him away, but instead she fell into him, and began to sob into his shirt. She hadn't spoken of this to anyone, ever. At the time, her parents had thought she knew nothing except that they weren't going to Mass anymore. Now, finally telling someone what she'd kept quiet for so many years brought forth the full impact of the pain. She cried with sadness, guilt and a degree of relief at having shared with someone.

Peter held her tight, and rubbed her back. He wished with all his heart that she would stop crying; he really couldn't stand to see her so upset. He spoke gently into her hair.  
'It's not your fault, Assumpta. It's not your fault at all. You were just a child. It's Connelly's fault, and Monaghan's fault, and that bishop's fault, but not yours, okay?'  
She nodded. Still crying, she brought her arms up and wrapped them around Peter's waist. She'd never been so glad to have him in her life. She'd been scared to tell him, scared that he'd take the church's side, but of course he didn't. He wasn't like the others; she knew that.  
Pulling away, Assumpta forced a smile, and said,  
'It's late. You should go.'  
He made no move to leave.  
'I'll be fine, I promise.'  
'You sure?'  
'I'm sure.'  
Peter looked at her for a few more seconds, and, when he was satisfied that she wasn't going to start crying again, he headed for the door.  
'And Peter?' Assumpta called after him.  
He turned to face her again.  
'You won't say anything, will you?'  
Peter smiled his reassurance, and was gone.

Assumpta didn't get much sleep that night. She was glad she'd told someone, and she was glad it had been Peter, but she was worried that there'd be consequences for speaking up. She was worried that old rumours and hostilities would come back to life, and that she'd have to relive past pain all over again. She was worried that Connelly would cause new troubles, now that he'd returned to the parish. Lying awake with all these fears, Assumpta thought her bed was very cold, and she couldn't help wishing to return to the comforting warmth of Peter's arms.

Peter possibly slept less than Assumpta did. He was still in shock over the account he'd heard of the charismatic and jovial Bishop Connelly he'd met that day. The amount of hate stirring within him toward the man who'd caused Assumpta so much pain scared him. How was he ever going to stand up and say Mass with the man the next morning?


	4. Chapter 4

_A bit far fetched? Probably... but this is how it went down in my head, so I hope it entertains you ;)_

**Chapter Four**

Brendan took a deep breath as he pushed open the door to Fitzgerald's. Glancing around, he saw that the place was empty, as he'd expected. It was only just gone opening time, and the lunch rush, if you could justify calling it that, wasn't due for another hour or so. Assumpta came through from the kitchen, and greeted him with a smile, which he returned.

She'd always had a soft spot in her heart for Brendan, even when she was a child; she'd give all the other schoolteachers absolute hell, but she'd usually be willing to listen to what Mister Kearney had to say. Now, he was the only person who could ever get her to calm down and see sense when she was in a rage... at least, he used to be the only person; Brendan had lately noticed that Father Clifford had something of the lion tamer about him, too. But Peter had not been around so long as Brendan had, and that's why Brendan had been nominated for this task. Michael, Siobhan and Padraig all remembered the drama Connelly had caused the last time he was in Ballykissangel, but they knew that Brendan was the only one who had a hope of getting Assumpta to talk about it.

'How's the business of moulding young minds, these days?'  
'Oh, grand. I've almost managed to convince them to read some of their poetry books in the ad breaks of the football on TV.'  
'Well, I guess I can sleep soundly in the knowledge that Ireland's future rests in capable hands. What can I get you?'  
'Just the usual, thanks.'  
'Bit early for that, isn't it?'  
'Ah, since when do _you_ tell _me_ what to do, young Miss Fitzgerald?'  
Assumpta held up her hands in surrender, and got Brendan his pint. Brendan nursed it in his hands for a few moments, thinking once more over what he was going to say.

'Assumpta?'  
She looked up from wiping the bar, noticing his change of tone.  
'I know it must be hard for you... seeing Connelly back here again.'  
She immediately went back to cleaning, trying to act normal. Was he seriously going to talk to her about this? How much did he know? How much did he think she knew?  
She tried to come up with something suitably flippant to say in reply, but Brendan didn't wait.  
'I know you were a child when he was here last, but I won't insult your intelligence by assuming you didn't figure out what was going on. I knew it was affecting you; I could see it in the classroom, but it wasn't appropriate for me to say anything then.'

Assumpta put down her cloth, and stood up straight to look Brendan in the eye.  
'Look, Brendan, I don't want to talk about it, okay? I just want to forget it ever happened. So drop it,' she said, sternly.  
'Assumpta, just _listen.'_  
She rolled her eyes, just like she'd done countless times at school when he'd told her to "just listen". He continued.

'I never liked that Father Connelly. Oh, he acted very friendly and all, but there was always something not quite right about him... I just couldn't trust him. I think a few other people saw it too; I know Michael did.  
'I don't rightly know what happened with him and your mum, but I am convinced that he was in the wrong. I thought so at the time, when the rumours were flying, and I spoke in her defence whenever I could. It's a damn shame that people around here are so bent on not speaking ill of a priest that they're willing to think ill of a respectable and kind lady, even when they knew – and I think most of them did know – that she was the victim in the thing.  
'Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'm on your side. And, if he bothers you at all, you just let me know.'

Assumpta didn't know what to say. Brendan had always been uncommonly perceptive, and he'd read this situation almost perfectly. As much as she dreaded the thought that her family's past would once again become a topic for discussion around town, she was comforted by the thought that, this time, she knew she had friends on her side.

'Thanks, Brendan.'

That afternoon, Assumpta gratefully accepted Niamh's offer to watch the pub while she got some fresh air; apparently, she looked awful, probably from lack of sleep. Fionn jumped with excitement at the sight of his lead, and the two of them set off on their favourite walk.

Their usual way home took them by St Joseph's, and Assumpta wondered whether she should go the long way round instead. But Mass was long over, and Connelly was probably gone. Maybe, she allowed herself to hope, he'd decided one night's stay was long enough, and had gone back to Wicklow. Besides, why should she let him dictate where she walked in her own town? _Screw him,_ she thought, and tugged on Fionn's lead. Still, she deliberately kept her gaze focused on the footpath until she was past the church, and almost past the curate's house beyond.

She jumped, as Peter's friendly 'Hiya' broke the Sunday afternoon quiet. He made his way to her across the garden.  
'Hi.'  
When he reached them, he bent down to give Fionn a scratch behind the ears. 'Hiya, Fionn.'  
Straightening up, he smiled at Assumpta, but his eyes were still filled with the same concern as the night before.  
'How are you?'  
'I'm fine.'  
Again, he was unconvinced.  
'No, really, Peter. I'm feeling better today.'  
'I'm glad to hear it,' Peter said, earnestly. Noticing her shivering, he added, 'I was just gonna change and then come for a drink. Do you want to come in and wait where it's warm?'  
Assumpta had never been inside Peter's house... Well, not since it had been his, anyway. She had to admit that she was curious to see it, and she was feeling very cold...  
'Sure, thanks.'  
She tied Fionn to a nearby post, and followed Peter inside.

Peter disappeared upstairs to change, leaving Assumpta free to look around his sitting room. Not much had changed since the last time she'd been in the curate's house, and that was years ago now. Aside from a few touches – his book on the end table, his shoes by the fireplace, and, most notably, the faint scent of him everywhere – there wasn't anything here to distinguish it as Peter's home. He hadn't even put any photographs up on the shelves. _So typical of a man_, Assumpta thought, smiling at the thought that, behind the collar, Peter was indeed a man – and a rather wonderful one at that.

The fire had made the room delightfully warm, and the sofa looked attractively comfortable. Assumpta sank down into it, took up a cushion, and rested her head. By the time Peter came back downstairs, her eyes were closed. He stood watching her for a good couple of minutes. It was lovely to see her so peaceful, so _quiet_, and so decidedly... on his sofa.

She stirred, opened her eyes, and blushed a little when she saw him standing there looking at her with that stupid cute smile on his face again.  
'Sorry...'  
'Don't be.' He came and sat down next to her. 'Looks like you had about as much sleep as I did, last night. I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to survive saying Mass with Connelly this morning.'  
Assumpta winced.  
'How did it go?'  
Peter sighed.  
'It was horrible. It made me sick – watching him standing up there, all self-righteously, talking to the congregation about God's love. Like he has any clue about God's love! And these innocent people are looking up to him, listening to him, and he's just deceiving them all. I hate the thought that they're coming to us for loving guidance, and instead they're getting lies and hypocrisy. But there was nothing I could do! Connelly and Father Mac went to Brian's for some fancy lunch he'd organised, but I told them I was ill. I honestly could not stand to spend any longer around him.'

Peter's fists were clenched, and his face had gone slightly red with anger. Assumpta couldn't remember ever seeing him angry, and she felt guilty for being the cause of it.  
She said, very quietly, 'I'm sorry for putting you through this, Peter.'  
Peter turned and gave her a very exasperated look, like she'd just said something incredibly stupid. He reached out, and took her hand, which had been resting on the cushion on her lap. Assumpta's breath caught at his touch.  
'Will you stop doing that?' Peter's voice was quiet, as he looked her intently in the eyes.  
'Doing what?' she breathed.  
'Apologising... acting like you've done something wrong.'  
'Sorry.'  
'Assumpta!'  
They both laughed quietly, looking down at their hands. He squeezed her hand a little bit tighter, making her head spin.

They were startled by a crash, as someone stumbled through the front door. The smell of whiskey reached them while the intruder was still in the hallway.  
'Clifford!' shouted Connelly, 'I've only gone and left my coat here!'  
Peter had reflexively let go of Assumpta's hand when he heard the door, but he reached for it again, now, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.  
'I'll get rid of him.'  
But, before Peter could head him off, Connelly was there, in all his drunken glory. Obviously, Brian had been very generously supplying beverages all afternoon.

Connelly took in the sight that was before him, and gave Peter a knowing and disapproving look.  
'Ohhh, no, Clifford,' he slurred, 'let me give you some friendly advice, son. She may be gorgeous, but, I'm telling you, she's not worth it. She's a troublemaker, this one – nothing but a troublemaker.'

If Peter was angry before, now he was furious. How dare he barge into the house like he owns the place, and throw insults at an innocent woman to whom he hasn't even spoken since she was eleven years old? How the _hell _did this guy get appointed as a bishop?

Peter moved around the sofa so that he was only inches away from Connelly, stared him straight in the eye, and shouted, 'How dare you? I know about you, Connelly. I know you're the only one in this room who's been causing trouble. You don't fool me; so don't even try it.'  
Connelly turned to Assumpta, with an amused expression.  
'Oh, we've been telling stories, have we? Good idea; tell him a good sob story, get his sympathy, play the damsel in distress. That'll get him into bed.'  
'Go to hell.' Assumpta tried to say it forcefully, but she couldn't keep her voice from shaking.  
Connelly pretended not to hear her.  
'Clever little whore, aren't you, Miss Fitzgerald? More like your mother every day.'

Before he even knew what he was doing, Peter had delivered one strong blow right to Connelly's nose. Peter was shaking out a very sore hand, Connelly was lying on the floor, and Assumpta was standing, astonished, looking between the two men.  
'You've just punched a bishop.'  
'I've just punched a complete bastard; that's who I've just punched.'  
Assumpta looked up at Peter, eyes wide with disbelief.  
'I think you've knocked him out.'  
Peter nodded slowly, assessing the situation.  
'Let's get out of here,' he said, grabbing the wrist of a still astounded Assumpta and leading her out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Grabbing Fionn on the way past, Assumpta followed Peter. She struggled to keep up with him as he headed quickly to the river. Peter's mind was going at a million miles an hour. What had he just done? What was he going to do now? What was he going to tell Father Mac? Could you go to prison for punching a bishop?

The questions on Assumpta's mind were much the same. As they made their way farther up the river, Assumpta, now struggling several paces behind, was the first to speak.  
'Father Mac will have you burned at the stake.'  
Perhaps not the most helpful of words, but she had to say something.  
Peter continued to stare straight ahead, and said distractedly, 'They don't really do that anymore.'  
'Well, yeah, but you could lose your job, or...' Assumpta stopped walking, as she realised how much the end of her sentence scared her. 'Or they could send you back to England.'  
Peter also stopped walking, and Assumpta watched his shoulders fall in a tired, helpless sigh. He turned around to face her. He had no words to speak; he merely studied her face. It was her turn to be concerned for him, now, and her beautiful, dark eyes betrayed her fear that Peter's actions would have painful consequences for them both.

'Why did you do it, Peter?'  
Why indeed? Thinking back to the image of her face when Connelly had said those things – that look of childlike fear and hurt mixed in with her usual fiery anger – and Peter knew exactly why. At that moment, he would have done anything to shut Connelly up, to stop him from making it any worse, to protect her... He struggled to find words to explain it.  
'Well... he was... the things he was saying... He was upsetting you, Assumpta. I just lost control.'

Assumpta's heart flooded with warmth at the thought that he could be induced to do something so out of character merely by the fact that someone was upsetting her.  
'Why do you care so much?' she asked, after a pause.  
Peter gave a disbelieving little laugh, as he made his way back down the riverbank towards her.  
'Assumpta, you know why.'  
He was standing so close, now, and his words were so soft and full of meaning, that she could barely breathe, and certainly couldn't hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes to his chest, and managed to choke out, 'Do I?'  
'Yes,' he said, 'you do.'

Bringing his hand to her face, Peter brushed a straying hair away, then gently traced the outline of her jaw all the way to her chin, which he lifted so that she was looking up at him. Her breath was shaky, and his stare was so intense – one of affection and longing, almost pleading. With his hand still holding her face, there was only one way she could escape his gaze now. Assumpta closed her eyes, and Peter did the same.

He slowly lowered his face, until his lips met hers. For one amazing moment, the soft warmth of her lips on his made his heart stop and his mind reel. All the worries that had plagued him thirty seconds ago fell away, and all that existed was Assumpta and the feeling of finally having what he'd so long dreamed of.

One amazing moment, and then she was gone.

She'd not so much pulled away as jumped back, with a look on her face like a deer caught in headlights. She'd muttered something about Niamh and the pub, and ran off with Fionn, back towards the town.

Peter sank down onto the nearest rock, and sat with his head in his hands. The worries came flooding back now, with a vengeance, and there were a thousand new ones added. Why did she run away? For those two wonderful seconds, he was sure he'd felt her kiss him back... Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe he'd misread the situation, misread Assumpta altogether, misread their entire relationship. Maybe he'd frightened her, made her think of Connelly and her mother. That was the most horrifying thought of all.

He stayed there, thinking over all the dreary possibilities of the future, until he heard a pair of very angry footsteps approaching from behind.

Father Mac's face had reached a new shade of red, so dark that it's not even to be found on the colour spectrum.

_Peter Clifford, prepare to meet your doom._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Back at the pub, Assumpta tried to keep the day's events out of her head. Thinking about them could only make the nagging dread and confusion worse. It would have to wait until after closing time, when she'd be free to feel whatever she would feel, without the risk of anyone seeing her shaken. It worked just fine when she was busy pulling pints and taking money, but, in moments when her hands fell idle, her mind would drift back to Peter's house, or to the river, to the stricken look on his face as she'd broken their contact far too soon...

'Assumpta! Are you in there?'  
She shook herself back to reality.  
'Sorry, Padraig. Another of the same, is it?'  
'Are you alright, Assumpta? You seem a bit off with the fairies, this evening,' said Siobhan.  
Forcing a smile, Assumpta replied, 'Yeah, fine. Just a bit tired, that's all.'  
Not quite believing her, Siobhan hoped to distract Assumpta from her troubles.  
'Say, did you hear about Enda Sullivan?'  
'Enda? No, I haven't heard anything of him in months.'  
Padraig snorted.  
'Yeah, he seems to have lost interest in playing gigs since you lost interest in him, Assumpta.'  
'Er, in order to lose something, one must have it in the first place, Padraig.'  
'Oh, right, and I s'pose it's completely normal behaviour for someone who's not interested to be found at his place of residence in the middle of the night, then?'  
'Shut up, Padraig.'  
_'Anyway_,' Siobhan continued, 'You remember that young girl he was with, Aileen. Well, last night, she came home to find him with the daughter of that new grocer in Cilldargan. So, what do you think she did? She set off a fire extinguisher on the two of them!'  
'She didn't!' Assumpta laughed.  
'Oh, she did indeed,' Brendan spoke up, with a smile. 'Michael had Enda up there all morning – he had an allergic reaction to the stuff!'  
Assumpta shook her head, smiling. 'That is brilliant. Good on Aileen.'

As last orders were called, ordered and reluctantly finished off, Assumpta glanced around at her friends. They'd done a wonderful job of distracting her all night, even though they didn't know what from. But, now, they were leaving, and she was going to have to face the realities of this rather eventful day.

Assumpta thudded up the stairs, and dived onto her bed, still fully clothed, with no immediate intention to become otherwise. She buried her face in her pillow, closed her eyes, and -  
_Bang, bang, bang.  
_That knock was unmistakable, now.  
'Noooo.' she groaned. Not tonight...  
But she knew there was no point in trying to ignore him. With great effort, she got up off the bed, and made her way downstairs to let Peter in. Without a word, she unbolted the door, led him through to the kitchen, and automatically put on a pot of tea. When, eventually, she turned to face him, she thought he looked about as wrecked as she felt.  
'You look knackered.'  
Peter managed a tired smile.  
'Yeah, so do you.'

Assumpta handed him his tea. He sat down on the table, and placed it there next to him. He wrung his hands, nervously. Probably the only thing keeping him awake was his fear of how this conversation was going to go. Assumpta was looking at him, expectantly... There was nothing for it but to dive right in.

'Assumpta, can we talk... about today?'  
'Which part?'  
'The part by the river.'  
'Oh, that.' Her stomach tied itself in knots. 'Sure.'  
'Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... It's just that today was a really crazy day. I wasn't thinking.'  
'You weren't?'  
Assumpta's heart sank. So it was a mistake then. He regretted it.  
'No. I never meant to scare you.'  
'Scare me?'  
'Yeah. I should've thought... with what happened to your mum and everything. It must have seemed like I was doing the same thing... but I wasn't, Assumpta, I swear.'  
Assumpta gaped at him in disbelief. He was looking down at the ground, shy and scared and guilty. _Is this what he's been thinking all day?  
_'Oh, no, Peter!'  
She moved forward, overcome by sympathy, and placed her hands on his shoulders. 'Of course that's not what you were doing, you big idiot. You're nothing like Connelly; I know you're not. I didn't leave because of that.'  
Peter was looking up at her, now, and she felt his shoulders relax.  
'Why, then?' he asked.  
'Well... it's like you said. It's been a crazy day. I just need time to... process.'  
Relieved, Peter let out the breath he'd been holding. Well, that was one weight lifted off his shoulders, but the relief didn't last long.

'So, how did it go with Father Mac?' Assumpta asked, stepping back to take a sip of her tea.  
Peter immediately missed the feeling of her touch, and registered with sadness that he was about to significantly reduce his chances of ever experiencing it again.  
'Hmmm?'  
'Well, I assume that's where you've been all night.'  
'Yeah.'  
'And...?'  
'Assumpta, I have to tell you something.'  
She had a feeling she knew what it was going to be, but she held onto her hope until he'd actually said the words.  
'I told him everything.'

It was amazing, Peter thought, how this woman could be so soft and gentle one moment, and so full of fury the next.  
'I'm sorry, Assumpta.'  
'Oh, you're sorry? Well, then, that fixes everything!' Her sarcasm and the look in her eyes cut like a sword. 'And you can wipe that stupid, pathetic look off your face and all. What? Do you think it's gonna melt my heart? Make me forget how easily you betrayed my trust just to save your own arse?'  
Tears pricked Peter's eyes, as he looked helplessly across at her.  
'Assumpta, please... That's not why...'  
'Why then?' Assumpta's own tears fell, hot and angry, down her cheeks. 'Because you wanted to get back at me for not kissing you by the river? Is that it? Maybe you're a lot more like Connelly than I thought.'

Her words had their intended effect. Watching Peter's face, she could see the moment their meaning registered with him, and he cringed, letting his tears escape his restraint. He got up, and walked out, and Assumpta was left standing there, staring at his full cup of tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

That was three days ago.  
Three days.  
Assumpta hadn't seen nor heard anything of him since. Brendan said he'd passed his car on the road leading out of village on the first morning, but no one had a clue where he'd gone, or when... if... he was coming back. Father Mac had been visiting Ballykissangel, covering Peter's duties, but, needless to say, he offered no explanation of what had become of his curate. To Assumpta's surprise, he also hadn't come into Fitzgerald's to lecture her on making up slanderous stories about an innocent bishop. She supposed he and Connelly had decided to sweep it all under the rug... That seemed to be their way of dealing with problems, after all.

Assumpta tried to carry on as normal, insisting to an ever-suspicious Brendan that she had no more idea than anyone else what had happened to Peter. But she frequently found herself worrying that he'd really gone – been let go from the church and sent packing, back to England... but without so much as a goodbye? Had her words really hurt him that much? Had she gone and lost him forever?

But she would always scold herself for caring, for being so weak and stupid and sentimental. She hadn't meant what she'd said to Peter; she knew it wasn't true. But she had wanted to cause him pain, and she knew him well enough to know exactly how that was to be done. He deserved it, for telling what he'd promised he wouldn't tell... and to Father Mac of all people! He was so frustrating. So what if he had gone? It would certainly make her life easier, wouldn't it?

The quiet voice in the back of her head, the sinking feeling in her stomach, and the stabbing pain in her heart seemed somehow to disagree.

Her mental preparations for a Peter-less life turned out to be premature, however. On Thursday morning, Siobhan reported that she'd seen his car parked in its usual spot at St Joseph's. All day, Assumpta was on edge, expecting every customer that walked through the door to be Peter, and not quite knowing if she was glad or disappointed when it wasn't.

'Why don't you just go and see him?' Brendan asked, quietly, when Peter still hadn't turned up by dinnertime that evening.  
'What?' Assumpta spat, throwing her tea towel down in frustration.  
She cursed Brendan and his ridiculous perceptiveness. Was he a mind reader now, or what? She busied herself wiping tables on the other side of the pub.

By the time last orders rolled around, she was fuming. _Who the hell does he think he is?_ She'd trusted him, confided in him about something very personal, and he'd blabbed about it to his stupid parish priest to avoid getting in trouble. Then, he'd disappeared for three whole days without a word to anyone, had returned, and he didn't even have the decency to come and explain it to her? He must have known she'd be worried. Why hadn't he come? Did he hate her now, because of what she'd said to him?

Assumpta felt a pang of guilt at the thought. Surely, he knew she didn't mean it. He knew her temper; he'd witnessed it often enough. This was different, though, she knew. She'd cut to the heart of who he is. She'd likened him to everything he hated. Remembering the hurt on his face, Assumpta sighed. She grabbed her coat, and followed the last of her customers out the door.

Folding her arms across her chest – half as protection from the cold, and half as protection from whatever emotions might flood in if she wasn't careful – Assumpta knocked on Peter's door. As she heard him approach and turn the door handle, she wondered what her purpose was in coming here. Was she going to apologise?  
'Where the hell have you been?'  
Evidently not.  
She stormed past him and into the kitchen, arms still folded, and eyes blazing. Peter resignedly followed her, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

This time, it was his turn to make the tea.  
Assumpta hadn't the patience for this.  
'Well?'  
'Well what?' replied Peter, still facing away from her, keeping busy with the tea things.  
'Where have you been?'  
'Why do you care? I'd have thought you'd be glad to see the back of me.'  
He turned around, but kept his eyes on the floor. He reminded her of a sulking child.  
'Oh, grow up, Peter! You know very well I didn't mean what I said.'  
Peter snorted, making her even angrier.  
'I only said it because I wanted to hurt you.'  
'Yeah, well, congratulations.'  
He looked so pathetic, and sounded so tired, that Assumpta softened a little... a _very_ little.  
'Look, I'm sorry, okay? But you hurt me first, remember. I'm not the one who broke my promise just so Father Mac wouldn't box my ears, or whatever.'  
'Assumpta, I told you that's not -'  
'I mean, you act like you care about me, while it's convenient for you, but, when it comes down to it, you're only looking out for yourself... just like the rest of them.'  
'Oh, so I'm selfish, am I?' Peter raised his voice to her for the first time.  
'Yes, you are!'Assumpta raised hers to match.  
He finally looked up at her.  
'And what does that make you, Assumpta?'  
Assumpta was taken aback.  
'Excuse me?'  
'Did you ever think about where Connelly went after he left Ballyk? Did it never occur to you that he probably did the exact same thing in his other parishes that he did here? Because he did, Assumpta. He did the same thing in Cork and in two separate parishes in Limerick, after that. I know, because I've been there. I've talked to the women he took advantage of, women just like your mum. Only, some of them weren't as strong as your mum.'  
Assumpta looked away.  
'A nineteen-year-old girl, Assumpta, just last year. How was she to stand up to a man like him? And a mum with two small children, and a young lady who was about to get married... and all because people are too afraid to speak up.'  
'Oh, so it _is_ my fault, now?' asked Assumpta quietly, looking out the window, although all she could see was darkness.  
'No,' said Peter, gently, 'of course not. You were just a child when it happened. But you're not a child anymore. You can help make sure Connelly gets what he deserves.'  
'I've got to go,' Assumpta whispered.

Peter leaned against the doorframe, watching her walk away. He heaved a very large, very hopeless sigh. He hadn't meant to make her feel guilty, to upset her again. All he wanted – all he had wanted from the start of this Connelly business – was to make things better for Assumpta. If only she'd listen to him. If only she'd stop thinking that he betrayed her trust to save himself. If only she'd understand... but she kept running away before he had the chance to explain.

When she got home, Assumpta jumped straight into bed. She pulled the covers over her head, and wished the last few days had never happened. She tried very hard to continue being angry with Peter, but she knew that he was right. Of course he was; he was always right. How incredibly annoying. She threw her pillow at the wall in frustration.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Down by the river, Peter sat on the same rock as he had just a few days earlier. The birds sang - altogether too cheerfully, in his opinion – as the afternoon sunlight broke through the trees. He stared ahead at the water, feeling too defeated even to throw stones into it. Again, he heard footsteps approaching, but they were rather lighter than Father Mac's.

Quietly, Assumpta came and sat beside him on the rock. After a few moments of silence, she looked over at him, and spoke.  
'So, I did a fairly rubbish job of apologising, last night... I wondered if you might let me try again.'

As Peter looked down at her, the sun moved, so that its golden rays made her hair shine and her face glow. In her eyes he saw that rare vulnerability, and he knew how hard it was for her to humble herself like this. He smiled to himself. It wouldn't matter what horrible thing she said to him, he mused, there was no way he could ever be angry at something so beautiful. He doubted that anyone could.  
'I'll tell you what,' he said, his voice betraying the warmth in his heart, 'let's call it even, yeah?'  
Assumpta smiled.  
'Yeah.'  
Thoughtfully, Peter added, 'On one condition.'  
'That being...?'  
'You have to listen to me... for five minutes. No interrupting, no fire eyes, and no running away – just listen. Deal?'  
Assumpta bit her bottom lip, unsure of whether this was within her power.  
'Deal.'

Peter took a deep breath, preparing himself to completely let go before this amazing woman, and praying that she wouldn't eat him alive.  
'First of all, I want to say that I really am so sorry for telling Father Mac what you told me. Believe me, Assumpta, the last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I need you to know – and I've been trying to tell you – that I didn't it to protect myself from getting into trouble with Father Mac. I would never upset you for something as stupid as that. I can prove it to you -'  
'You don't have to -'  
'Hey! No interrupting, remember? So, the worst Father Mac could have done was kick me out of the priesthood, right? Well, I had no reason to fear that, because I had already decided to leave.'  
'You _what?'_  
'Assumpta!'  
She couldn't help it; she was utterly shocked.  
'But -'  
Peter put a finger to her lips, silencing her. She gave an exaggerated sigh.  
'For a long time now, I haven't been able to give myself completely to my ministry, because a part of me – quite a huge part, actually – is always with you. From the moment I met you, I knew you'd cause me trouble. You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I knew you'd be a massive distraction, but you've come to be so much more than that... You're everything to me, Assumpta.'

Assumpta's heart had sped up to about twice its normal rate at his first sentence, and she could barely hear him over the sound of her pulse. She was awfully glad she wasn't allowed to speak, because she had no idea what on earth she would say if she could.

'When Connelly showed up here, when you told me your story and you cried while I held you, that's when I knew. All I want is to make sure that you never, ever have to hurt like that again, Assumpta. I'm not expecting anything from you. Where we go from here is completely your decision. I just wanted to tell you that you're lovely, and you deserve someone who really sees that. You deserve to be held and honoured and truly loved, and, if you'll let me, I want to be the one do those things.'

Her heart had sped up at his first sentence, but it completely stopped at his last. She stared at him in disbelief. This incredible man, always so painfully untouchable, could not seriously be sitting there offering to completely turn his life upside down, just for the privilege of loving her. This kind of thing just didn't happen in real life.

'Well, that's it,' Peter said, nervously, as he stood up and moved to lean on a tree opposite where Assumpta was sitting. 'Now you're free to shout at me, or run away or...'  
'I don't want to shout at you or run away, Peter.'  
Assumpta smiled up at him in such a way that made him feel like his entire body was filled with... not butterflies... more like pterodactyls.  
Peter gulped, then said, 'This is probably ridiculously unromantic, but, all things considered, I think it's best to ask... Would it be okay if I kissed you?'  
Assumpta laughed out loud, and rose to stand in front of him.  
'You're right; that's probably the most unromantic thing I've ever heard in my life... but, yes, I think that would be okay.'

Peter placed both his hands on Assumpta's waist, and gently pulled her to him. He lifted one hand to softly touch her face. and her eyes fluttered closed. His lips found hers again; only, this time, she showed no signs of pulling away. Instead, her hands grazed his chest as she brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. With both of his hands now caressing her lower back, Peter held Assumpta as close as he possibly could, and he wanted her closer still.

He felt, rather than saw, her smile, as she breathlessly pulled away after a time that felt delightfully like an eternity and painfully like a second. She brought her arms down to wrap them around his waist, and rested her head on his chest, happily allowing him to hold her as he'd done the night she told him about Connelly.  
'So, what happens now?' she asked.  
'Well,' Peter replied, dreamily, as he played with her hair, 'hopefully, we'll do a lot more of that.'  
Assumpta stepped back to give him a disapproving look.  
'Peter, I'm serious! What's going to happen... with Connelly and everything?'  
'Oh, _that._'  
'Yes, that.'  
'Well, I think we should have enough of a case to at least have him removed from the clergy, if not criminally charged... If nobody backs out, we'll have testimonies from you, me, the women from the other parishes, Father Mac...'  
'Father Mac? He believed you about what happened?'  
'Oh, yeah, didn't I tell you? He'd already had his suspicions before I spoke to him.'  
'No, you didn't tell me. I'd say I'm astonished, but, after the week I've had, I think it would be impossible to astonish me any more.'  
'Tell me about it.'

Peter smiled down at her - that stupid, adorable, lopsided smile.  
'I love you, Assumpta.'  
Okay, maybe not quite so impossible after all...

**The End.**

_So, that's it, friends! That's my first fan fiction :) I had lots of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. I've got loads more ideas, because I've had nothing but Ballykissangel in my head for about 16 months now (I'm sure some of you can relate!). Let me know if you'd be keen to read them. If not, I'll just keep them in my head ;)_


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